


Frosting

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Kamski poses his dolls in the snow.
Relationships: Connor/Elijah Kamski/Markus, Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Frosting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s hard to tell which one is more beautiful. Maybe Connor’s _softer_ ; his silky brown hair is flecked with little beads of snow, and his peach cheeks are flushed a pastel pink, imitating a reaction to the cold even though he feels nothing. His plush lips part when Elijah guides them to—he kneels next to Connor and slides his thumb into Connor’s mouth, prying it open just enough to show off his pearly whites. Then Elijah taps Connor’s chin and closes those lips a little more, just not entirely. It’s a delicate balance that Connor fully surrenders to. Elijah brushes a few more strands of Connor’s hair across his forehead. Sitting back, Elijah tilts his head, examining his work. Something’s missing. He brushes a bit of snow across Connor’s right cheek and lets it melt there, creating a slick wet trail that makes his skin truly _shine_. He’s a gorgeous specimen—one of Elijah’s favourites.

Markus is the other favourite. Elijah stands and circles them, lowering down just beside Markus instead, and of course Markus is already perfect—he fell at the best angle. He has no hair to arrange, but his stubble mimics human life, and the snow’s still cocooning him, damp along the back of his head and the sides of his neck—his bronze skin glimmers with little flakes. His eyes are what makes him look _hard_ —he stares intensely up, whereas Connor’s brown eyes are quiet until called. Elijah takes his time attending the rest of Markus’ prone body, all spread out before him, all chiseled abs and taut pecs and every little line that would make any sexual creature salivate. He looks stronger than Connor, though the muscle tone is only plating—in truth, they’re completely equal. Like brothers, or two sides of the same coin. Just slightly different models. Elijah shuffles a bit more snow across their crotches, hiding the realistic genitals he painstakingly designed himself. Both are impressive and worth showing off, but not for a daytime ad. Elijah’s already pushing the limits. He trails melting ice along Markus’ inner thigh and makes sure his enormous cock is covered.

Neither of them squirms. Neither of them makes a note of protest, though occasionally, he catches both sets of eyes flickering to him—Markus’ stiffly taking note and Connor just automatically analyzing. When he’s finished, Elijah takes a few final touches—small squeezes and caresses, just for his own pleasure—and then he climbs back to his feet. 

He finds the best angle and readies his camera. He could pay someone to do this, of course, and probably should—it’s not like he can’t afford employees at this point. His exquisite androids are in high demand. But these two prototypes are _special_ , and he just can’t bring himself to let someone else handle them so intimately. Not when the photoshoots are done sans-clothing. 

He angles the camera and leaves enough blank space above their heads for the tagline— _technology for all temperatures._ With the arctic opened up and climate change wrecking havoc, temperature is never guaranteed. Travel is more common than ever, but most computers can’t survive extreme cold or extreme heat. Elijah’s can survive everything. He can ensconce Connor’s raw cock in ice, and Connor could still accurately calculate the infinite digits of pi. Elijah can shove Markus onto a slab of snow, and Markus could still rise up and perform _any_ requested task on command, no matter how much _heat_ required. He watches Elijah move the camera, lips in a thin line. 

Elijah pauses, pondering the perfect shot. He could get down and rearrange their pliant bodies again, but he’s already had his fun, and instead orders, “Look at each other.”

They do. Connor’s head snaps to attention, and Markus’ idly lolls to the side. They stare into one another with a rapt interest no human could achieve. Elijah can picture all the light and data bouncing back and forth between them. He adds, “Hold hands.”

They shift just enough to do so. Their fingers intertwine, securely clasped between them, an equal distance from either’s hips. Elijah takes a couple more shots and decides he’ll nab a few for a more intimate campaign.

“Connor, lower your lashes by fifty percent. Markus, look at Connor like he’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever seen.”

Connor instantly complies with the clear instruction. Markus melts just as easily into the vague request. Elijah can practically feel the snow melting around them. 

“Markus, turn to Connor’s side, drape one thigh over his leg, and keep your hips turned so I’m not seeing anything inappropriate.”

Markus obeys, easily rolling over, exposing his tight rear, peppered with powdered snow and wet from the bulk of it, but he finds the exact angle to hide both his crack and cock. It’s a shame, because both parts of him are as alluring as the rest. Connor looks as though his thirium pump’s racing at twice the speed; he’s never looked more handsome. 

Without having to be told, Markus reaches his arm across Connor’s waist and pulls Connor into him, pulling Connor onto his side too. Connor resists for half a second, gaze flickering to Elijah, but when Elijah doesn’t protest, Connor allows the movement. He lets himself be flattened into Markus. He even lets Markus slot their faces together so close that they’re almost kissing. It’s amazing to see. There are no traces of blue tinting despite their pseudo-blood, no signs of frostbite—they may as well be making love in Elijah’s grand four-poster bed instead of rolling about outside in the middle of a particularly vicious winter. Elijah’s got two coats on over his sweater. But that’s what he made them for—to be _better_.

Elijah notices Connor’s cock up nestled against Markus’ stomach, the tip visible over Markus’ raised leg, mostly flaccid but still too hyper-realistic to work for any magazine. Markus’ dick is nudging Connor’s hip, rock-hard. 

There’s no way to make this pose ad-friendly.

Elijah snaps a plethora of pictures anyway, then decides to cut the shoot short and wanders home for an easier place to pull up a chair and watch. His androids faithfully follow, hand-in-hand until told otherwise, naked bodies a pleasant contrast to the white all around them and a great reminder that Elijah’s the luckiest human in the world.


End file.
